Of Monsters and Men
by Good-Girl-Gone-Navy
Summary: She lost her entire world -her daughter.- and she has to cope with how brutal and cruel life has become. They say endurance is what pulls you through anything but humans can only endure so much... **Daryl/OC**R&R PLEASE**
1. Haunted

**_** Hey, I uploaded this more than once but it always got deleted. This is a REWRITE so if you were following the first version of the story then yeah, the flashback scene is the same, but the scene after it is different, so I hope you guys like it :D Reviews are very welcomed, so please if you like it/hate it review so I can know what to fix and all. R&R please :) Guys please please review, it makes me want to write more for you :)**_**

**_ Disclaimer: I don't own TWD. I only own my O.C's_**

**_ Warning: Rated T for cussing and mild gore_**

**_ **If I decide to continue the story and make sequels then the rating is subject to change in the sequels**_**

* * *

A dim ray of gray moonlight shone in through the curtains. My mind spun with images of Hazel as I tried to pull it together. I took in a deep breath through clenched teeth as I balled my hands into a fist. I pushed the thought away into my subconscious mind, knowing it will surface again and haunt my nightmares.

_Hazel is just fine_. I promised myself. _She's in Atlanta, in the refugee camp. No reason to freak out. She didn't have all the symptoms of the virus._

I can't sleep, dreading the horrors that will appear before my closed lids. The wall clock ticks like the timer on a bomb. I can't stop it, reverse it or slow it down. Each tick drags me forward, helpless and nervous to the allotted time. I can no more avoid it than the beating of my own heart as it pounds with futility against it's cage of bone and cartilage. The dread is an invisible demon sitting heavy on my shoulders and only I can hear the sharpening of it's knives. I sweat and become pale, then the tremor in my hands begins. My head becomes a little giddy and my stomach nauseous. All I can do is lay on my bed, awaiting the first beam of sunlight that signals dawn.

It was my own stupid decision, leaving at dawn. I can't face that world, I can't face anything. Shame forces me to accept my reality. A disoriented 26 year old, with no fight, no family-except my youngest sister-and no daughter. My stomach cramps as the truths settle in. It feels like when Hazel used to kick my ribs when I was pregnant with her. A sudden blow from the inside that left me breathless.

My eyelids began feeling heavy but I fought against them, sleep would only bring that one nightmare back. There are no ghosts, no serial killers. I'm stuck in a dark forest and no matter which path I took it always came back to the hangman's noose at the center of the forest. There was only one way out.

That's when the screaming begins. Luckily, I always stifle my shrieks using my pillow. For if Bella hears them, she would very certainly be terrified. She's already got enough on her mind, mourning mom and dad. It's different for her, she watched them die, I didn't.

I got up, my feet gingerly touching the ground, I guess I am still not entirely convinced that I was hallucinating the night when the floor turned to pitch black scorpions, I walked on silent sock feet, as if not to awaken the ghosts in the house.

After half an hour or so of aimlessly pacing the house, I paused in front of a mirror and looked at the woman trapped in it.

The woman might have been called beautiful before the world went to shit. But now a double layer of dead skin covered her features. Her once soft lips were cracked and crusty. Her eyes were the most changed, though. The electric blue color that perhaps wasn't the brightest at the best times-come to think of it, it was a dull blue, almost gray-had lost the shine in it and it was now harbored by undiluted misery. The circles beneath them were bruise-like and they didn't intend to leave. Her blonde hair was once straight, yet now tangled and limp with grease.

I sighed and tore away from the painful image of myself. I found an old wooden chair and settled down on it. Enveloping myself in the warmth of a spare blanket as a memory surfaced to my mind.

* * *

I made my way through the room, which was once filled with the giggles of my bubbly, energetic daughter, Hazel. Now a withered spirit, with a deathly white face. Those ecstatic blue orbs no longer demonstrating glee. Instead, they are lusted after by distress and pain.

_ And now, here she lays. Her skin moist with salty sweat beads that swiftly drift off her forehead and land on the pillow, struggling for mere seconds, trying not to be absorbed by the pillow, nonetheless, even with those dynamic battles against the laws of physics, they always end up disappearing into the pillow, presumably unleashing shrill cries of death._

_ Upon the first beam of light that lands on her eyelids after I clicked on the lights, she opens those crystal-blue eyes and quietly scans the room until he eyes meet mine._

_ Her chapped lips moved to summon a single word into a cracked voice. "Mommy?"_

_ "How are you feeling, cupcake?" I asked in the lowest voice I can attain whilst still being audible, for the last thing she deprives is a loud voice. She had been fretting about an ear-infection all morning._

_ "My ear is ringing again." She moaned_

_ "They doctor said you'll get better tomorrow." I assured, wishing that it would be. I reached out to brush her blonde hair out of her face, spreading it across the pillow into golden strings._

_ She shut her eyes and murmurs a "I hope so."_

_ "You should go back to sleep."_

_ I was expecting her to purpose a story to read, or ask me to sing her to sleep, still, her lips moved no more, the only motion that she made was a simple nod. I felt my heart break into a million pieces. What happened to my daughter? Where is the little girl with the swinging blonde hair and bright blue eyes that glittered with glee?_

_ I loathed myself for not taking precautions. I knew this virus was dangerous, yet I let her leave the house, now god knows what she caught on. For all know, 975,000 souls had fallen victim to this epidemic. But there is still that little string of hope that maybe, just maybe, she only caught on something different, something more... merciful._

_ I fumbled for the light switch._

_ The room seemed much more eerie and hunting in the darkness. The light of the moon cast dancing shadows among the walls, precisely illuminating Hazel in her bed, creating a white pool of light over her._

_ I blow her a kiss as I almost exited the room, but I stopped in my place as she faintly called out for me._

_ "Mommy?"_

_ "Yeah?"_

_ "Will you be there when I wake up?"_

_ Her question froze me in place. Why would she possibly think I would abandon her? I wanted to assure her that everything was going to be okay, but it seemed dishonest to assure any living creature that all was fair with the world which contained such an atmosphere. I reflected that a mother's duty lay in part in the perpetuation of such a lie. Every lullaby sang of that lie._

_ And yet, if a child has a mother and a father that loved her and would die for her, was it falsehood to promise the child a safe harbor? But Hazel didn't have a father anyway, so all the falsehood shall lay on my own shoulders._

_ Unhappy with my thoughts, I frowned and gave her a short and straight to the point answer._

_ "Of course I will."_

* * *

_As if! _I yelled at myself through mental lungs. I shut my eyes to keep the tears from spilling over. I loved her with all my heart, I loved her more than a mother had and shall love her child. My pregnancy was unintended, I was eighteen and drunk, that's all I remember, yet I loved Hazel more than life itself and now that she is slipped away, I am only a shell of the woman I was. But I only had one reason left to survive: Bella.

And she cannot see me so weak, she need to be strong, _I _need to be strong for her. So I splashed my face with water from a bottle and tried to look as calm as possible as I crept up the stairs to awaken her...

* * *

** **Hello, so I do realize the ending might be a bit stupid, lol xD. And it's short, but it's only my second fanfic, I hope you guys liked it, so review telling me what you think, and even if you disliked it then review telling me what to change, but go easy on me, I'm only 13.**

** Stay tuned for the next chapter!****

_¬Suzanne¬_


	2. Hunted Down

**Hey guys, so here's chapter two, it starts at the first episode of season two.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own TWD, but I'd love to, but I can't sadly...**

Chapter 2

Hunted Down

.

.

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We are running away from possibly hundred of those things. My feet pound the tarmac with all the grace of a sack of wet concrete, the springing graceful steps of twenty miles earlier had long since disappeared. My rasping throat was as parched as a dead lizard in the desert sun. My head bobs loosely from side to side with each footfall and my eyes feel heavy in their sockets. As my hair blows behind my back, I am only aware of my heart pounding, my throat rasping, leaden feet and heavy legs. Chilly autumn air burns my throat with each lungful, and every footfall shakes me even more.

And here I am now, scarred and bloody, bruised and sore, light-headed and dizzy as I clutch Bella's hand through sweaty palms. Fresh tears blur my vision as I remember that Bella is I've got left. The refugee center is just a hoax, as we discovered less than an hour ago. The city belongs to the dead now, meaning that everyone I know is dead.

Regret washes over me like the long slow waves on a shallow beach. Each icy cold wave and sends shivers down my spine. How I long to go back and take a different path, but now that is impossible. There is no way back. There is no way to make it right. The remorse will eat at me everyday of my life. I envy the concrete beneath my shoes, hard and lifeless, unable to feel the torments of life.

I take at my young companion, her auburn hair blown around her face, gray eyes wide with fear, but determined. We sprint across the road into the woods, blurry moss-covered trees passed by us, the aroma of pine mixed with fresh mud indicates a pond is nearby. Behind us, the dead snarl in harmony, and in the dense forest, the stink of decomposition is nearly undiluted.

The bushes and trees of low growth had disappeared, to make room for gigantic mahogany trees, century old cork trees, and the Anjou, whose somber branches form a vaulted roof of green eighty feet above my head. The path had grown wider and stretched, in a gentle incline, towards a hillock of moderate height, entirely free from trees, there stood a house. It was a square grey building, with narrow windows in straight rows. There is nothing about it in the very least picturesque or attractive, for it was far too modern to at all suggest anything medieval or mysterious; it was just thoroughly ugly and forbidding.

I instantly realize what this place would mean: Refugee.

Dust lay over every surface like dirty snow, pristine dust layer, not a foot print anywhere, papers and letters addressed to no one piled up to the letter box and cascade all the way to the foot of the rough wooden stairs, old tea cups lay on a coffee table thickly encrusted with dried up mold, dust-covered mirrors, the smell of mildew, stale air, air thick with dust, shafts of light bursting through gaps in the boarded up window, light streaming through the gaps in the heavy velvet curtains, absolute silence, the house's only occupants weaved their webs between the spindles of the stair banisters and from the ceiling to the wall, old cobwebs billow in the draft. The grim and gloomy building was the worst excuse for a house I'd ever seen. But as long as we can survive in it then it's fine. But no, we can't stay huddled in here forever, what we really need is a trap, a decoy of some sort.

Human scent and noise attracts them.

I make my way to the kitchen, coughing, for the dust was now disturbed by my footfall and it had swirled up to my nose. The rusty drawer croaks as I pull it open, grabbing a knife I grabbed my lighter and flicked it on as I set the metal to heat. That's the only attainable way to sterilize it.

I gingerly cut my palm with the knife, wincing and grinding my teeth with enough force that a little more effort might sent them cracking. But I pull myself together and slide my hand against several pieces of furniture all over the house. On a faded blue couch, on a glass coffee table, on an old T.V and on a somber portrait.

I gently grab Bella, forcing her to face me. "Listen sweetie, I need you to find some vodka, or rubbing alcohol, okay? I need to get out, find the car."

Her expression turns from fear to panic as she stiffly grabs my wrists. "No! Please don't leave me!"

"Shush, I'll be right outside, holler if you see anything suspicious." I grab my gun and place it in her trembling hand. There is only enough time to briefly teach her how to reload. She wouldn't need it. I hope.

I vigilantly walked outside, more tense than a tiger stalking a prey. Except in this case, I'm the prey. I stalk around the surrounding areas for a while, watching the dirt swiftly drift under my muddy white sneakers, thanking goodness that infected can't track footprints.

When I finally reach my destination, I stare at it for beyond the time accredited. It was a large faded blue truck, the kind of truck that usually leave a road accident unscathed while it's victim isn't as fortunate. Despite the sturdy, bulletproof appearance of the stained window, it turns out to be very fragile. I cautiously reach in, for I wish not to cause myself another injury, and plus, the glass looks infectious. I find the key inside, and switch the car on, the engine roared to life, but it didn't create enough noise to distract many infected so I reached in, switching the C.D player on. The song played was a sad tune, but it generated enough noise.

I hurry back inside grab the bottle of vodka and pour it over my cut, for the last thing I need is an infection. I ready the machete, holding it in my right hand as we sprint outside, all we can hope for is to disappear before anything catches sight of us...

We have been running for at least half an hour when we stumbled upon the highway out of Atlanta. Many deceased sit in stiff positions inside their vehicles in various stages of decomposition. The stench of rot slaps my nose and I adjust the hem of my jacket so that it covers my nose and mouth. Up close, I see many figures walking around.

"Stay here." I order as I grab my machete.

As I get closer, I can see that these are living humans. All of them had their backs to me. The females are easy to identify; the first one is brunette and very skinny, she wears a navy blue tank top and blue jeans. I am puzzled over the second figure beside her, the figure has close-cropped grey hair, but from the clothing and the lean figure, it is surely an X chromosome. There are two kids in the group, one was a honey-blonde girl wearing a blue T-shirt and light brown trousers. The other kid is a boy with chocolate-brown hair wearing a camo T-shirt and blue jeans. There are five men; the first is muscular and raven-haired, the typical macho-man, he is holding a deadly looking shotgun. The second man is wearing a sheriff's uniform, he has brown hair, and from the way he stands, it is obvious that he's the boy's father. The third is a plump African-American with a bald head. Beside him stands an old man with white-hair, the top of his head is bald, he is perhaps in his late sixties to early seventies. The last man is leaning against a motorcycle, a sleeveless top exposed muscular, tan arms that are covered in dirt, but who am I to judge? I'm not so clean myself right now. He has brown hair and is shielding a heavy-looking crossbow.

The man in the sheriff's outfit orders a hushed decree and the others obey by sliding under cars. I look for the source of the distress and find myself staring at the herd that we were escaping from earlier. I almost screamed in frustration, but that wasn't going to do me any good so I hurry back to Bella and order her to hide under a dusty silver Volvo whilst I shelter myself in the bed of a white truck, I pull the cover of the truck over me and wait in the blackness for the footsteps and groans outside to fade away. After 5 minutes or so I hear the shrill cry of a young girl, my heart stopped until I realized it was too high-pitched to be Bella. So it must be the honey-blonde girl from the group.

I felt disgust with myself for feeling relieved as I thought of a mother who would sleep worrying about her child tonight, knowing that she perhaps was never coming back to her. That's when I feel the first tear running down my cheek. I never learned to cry with style, silently, the pearl-shaped tears rolling down my cheeks from wide luminous eyes, as on the covers of True Love comics, leaving no smears or streaks. I wished I had; then I could have done it in front of people, instead of in bathrooms, in darkened movie theaters, shrubberies and empty bedrooms, among the party coats on the bed.

I quickly wipe them away as I choke on another sob, it felt like rubbing salt into my open wounds, no this won't do, not anymore. I force myself out of the trunk and take weak steps as I hoarsely chant Bella's name, but there isn't a response. I was quickly starting to panic as my voice rose hysterically, I didn't know I was crying until the tears pooled over my lips and their salty taste tickled my taste buds.

The emptiness in my heart, the numbness pounding my brain, the salty tears that flowed unchecked from my eyes, the shear nothingness that now took hold of my soul threatened to engulf me entirely. My legs buckled, knees sinking into the hot, solid concrete as I curl into a fetal position and watch my tears wetting the dry ground...

**Hey guys, so it's kinda a sucky ending, I know, but I'd like to tell you this: this is an extremely slow going story, sorry but I had to keep the plot as realistic as possible since as you will see in further chapters Roxy will get a concussion that leaves her mentally disoriented and all and all of that in addition to Daryl's nature, so basically after Sophia's death they will be fighting all the time, come to think of it, they will be rivals for a while, so i don't expect any romance to occur until season 3 (I'm not skipping the eight months between S2 and S3), so yeah, I hope you guys tag along though, I think there will be minor romance but nothing serious until S3...**

~Suzanne~


	3. The Arrow

****Hey, here's chapter 3 and I would love to thank all my followers, xx. And I want to point out that I was extremely sick with fever for a few days, so writing was difficult, but I somehow managed to produce the longest chapter so far. But it isn't so creative or descriptive and I didn't watch the episode while writing this so it wouldn't be 100% accurate, but whatever. ****

****Disclaimer: I do NOT own The Walking Dead.****

****Rated T for language.****

**Theme Song: By The Grace Of God -Katy Perry-**

_Thought I wasn't enough and I wasn't so tough_

_ Laying on the bathroom floor _

_We were living on a fault line_

_ And I felt the f__ault was all mine_

_Couldn't take it any more..._

**Chapter Three:**

**The Arrow.**

* * *

When I woke up, the ground beneath me was cool instead of scorching hot. The overwhelming darkness suggested a few hours after midnight. At less demanding times, going into the woods at such a time is utterly out of the question. But I thought of a twelve year old who might spend days, weeks or perhaps even months in there, a twelve year old who might not even make it through the night.

I forced myself to cut the negative thoughts and focused on shuffling my feet forward. _But still_, I thought. _I had yet to consider how frail and defenseless Bella was._

I mentally slapped myself as I forced myself to move deeper into the woods. An owl screeched a warning somewhere as the leaves whispered ominous secrets against each other. Each and every secret carried around by the occasional breeze. But of course, ominous and secretive things make up a great deal of my life nowadays.

Except for a few shreds of moonlight, the woods were as dark as a shut closet and I instantly felt a shudder run up my spine and the insane urge to start running away, but I fought against it. I desperately sought courage, but it never found me. I felt so defenseless and naked here, so without protection, except for my machete which would be useless to sway around in the darkness. My palms were sweaty and the adrenaline coursing through my system was shutting down my ability to think logically, the icy chill ran up my spine as the forest felt suddenly claustrophobic. It was all I can do to not escape...

I must have fallen asleep after a few hours. Thank goodness I wasn't dumb enough-even in such a poor mental state-to actually sleep on the ground or I might have been devoured. Instead, I have climbed a tree and steadied myself there with what? A belt? A rope? But I couldn't care less, all I can think that by every second that ticks by, Bella is dragged further away from me.

After a long cold night the daybreak brought glimmers of warmth. The golden light softly caressed the land and ignited the birds into a chorus of melodies. Golden light dribbled over the land like syrup on oatmeal. The leaves shimmered like a mirror flecked mosaic and the morning dew sparkled on the bejeweled cobwebs and grass.

The day suggested happiness and hope, but it was obviously meant for someone else. Not for me...

* * *

**A few days later:**

I had taken the tree slumbering into a habit. After every failure of a day, I would force my fatigued limbs to climb the sturdiest tree available to spend another miserable night there. I have decided to move into the more populated areas rather than the empty woods. Meaning that I'm closer to farms and country houses now.

Streams of sunlight fell through the thick wall of trees, filling up every space between the leaves with warm, sugary light. The rays tumbled down strands of grass, which gleamed with remains of the morning dew. The sky has ripened from a fresh orange color into a pale blue. Wisps of white clouds stood unmoving. They were so thin, they appeared to be stray brush marks on blue canvas, or traces of powdered sugar on a baker's azure counter top. I was beginning to give up, but the day seemed so hopeful that I had forced myself out of the branch.

I dizzily tried to undo the double knot of the length of rope, but my finger were too slippery and I had to lean on my side more than I was comfortable with, and suddenly I was falling.

Time seems to slow down when you're falling. In the seconds it took me to reach the ground I knew it was going to hurt. My body twirled and jerked as I fell. The wind in my face made it impossible to breathe, I felt like I'd suffocate before I ever got the signal to pull the cord. For a full half-minute I went downward at a speed that constricted my throat so that I could hardly draw breath.

I landed on my face with all the grace of a hundred rats trapped in a sack, desperately trying to flee. The last I felt was the blood slowly oozing out of the giant gash on my head and the bitter liquid that curled it's way into my taste buds...

When I regained consciousness, it was perhaps early afternoon for the sun gleamed high in the sky. I couldn't think clearly, all my thoughts tended to jumble together, and I can no longer differ between what's real or not. I had the type of nausea you get after hitting your head against something hard. And at this thought only one word came to mind.

Concussion.

Luckily, the soft grass had cushioned my fall so I can actually move about. But I dare not push myself too much.

Looking up I felt that the light was too bright for the now frail tissue of my eyes and I was seeing bright auras around everything in my way. My heart stopped as I thought of how difficult it would be to kill off infected.

As I walked, I noticed a stream that I had been surviving on for a while now and decided to hydrate myself. But I stopped as I noticed a figure laying down in the muddy water. My palms grow moist as I grab my machete and cautiously walked forward.

Upon closer inspection, I find a man. I instantly recognize him as the crossbow man from the road. He mutters intelligible words. From which I make out the name Merle.

He was wearing a wrecked brown shirt. His brown hair was messy and pointing in every direction. His face was ruggedly handsome, not the pretty boy type obviously. His age ranged between mid thirties to early forties. His face was caked with blood from a small gash in his forehead. Looking down for the source of the stream, I find an arrow, unmistakably from his crossbow piercing his waist.

I cautiously poked his arm. "Are you okay?" Which is a stupid question to ask, he was obviously less than okay.

As he made no response, I decided to drink a little because after all, it was the very thing that got me here.

A little more than five minutes later, I heard a grunt as I quickly turned around, my hair slapping my face in the process. I tripped and stumbled my way through the water.

"Hello?" I whispered, leaning down closer to him, he quietly drew his eyes open and for mere seconds I was trapped in his blue gaze, How bright his eyes are! Those hues the envy of every summer's sky. In the time I had taken to place him, he was already pushing me off and although he was hiding it, I can see that the movement hurt more than he wants to admit.

"You're hurt." I hadn't paid attention to how difficult it was to conjunct sentences now, how heavy and uncooperative my tongue felt. He gave me a 'No shit!' look, but said no more.

"Lay down. We need to take it out." I ordered as gently as possible.

"I can do jus' fine. I don' need your fuckin' help! Stay away!" I was thrown back by the venom in his voice, but I figured he couldn't trust me.

"I don't trust you as much as you don't trust me." I wanted to say, but I was far too intimidated by this man, yet I decided to stick around. He has a group, a group means people and people mean safety, and better searching. In this state I can barely protects myself, never mind look for Bella. I hugged my knees tightly to my chest and braced my head between them, wishing I can shrink up to the point of invisibility. But still, out of the corner of my eyes, I watched the man as I waited to spring up again. How can he be so ungrateful?!

"I saved your life!" I yelled. "At least thank me."

"I coulda managed with your help!" He hissed and I immediately regretted my decision of speaking but the adrenaline overrode all my sensation.

"Can't I at least know your name?"

"What do ya want?"

"I saw you and your group at that highway." I began. "I know you lost your girl. I lost my sister too." I bit my tongue as I realized I was babbling, he doesn't care, of course. "I just want shelter 'till I find her. You'll never hear of me again after it. Please!" I begged as a hint of my long-lost Russian accent surfaced to my tongue.

"If you try anything." He warned.

"Then you'd shoot an arrow straight into my eye. Whatever."

I felt his impatient glare trap me, his icy blue eyes even colder now, they were so beautiful that they put my own navy blue ones to shame. But I couldn't let myself develop and kind of compassion for this harsh man.

He slowly and unsteadily crawled out of the water, cursing with each footfall, yet he refused any sort of help I offered. He slowly pulled the arrow out and used his sleeve as a makeshift bandage. He dragged himself as far of the water as possible, but still extremely far from me and if I took the slightest step forward, he might actually kill me so I kept in my place.

"How are we going to leave?" I asked, but he ignored me. I followed his gaze and saw him staring at a rock wall.

"I can't climb that! And you surely can't either." And it's true, my legs felt like jelly and they won't stop trembling, and I felt someone was hammering my left temple and the fucking nausea didn't leave either.

"Don't be such a pussy. Grab a stick." He ordered.

I hesitantly did but as I stood up, my body failed me and I collapsed the vomit escaping my stomach before the lights left and I was swallowed in darkness. The last I remember is the stranger's huff of irritation.

* * *

How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? All I know is that I was lying on the ground, dirty, bloody and rasping for breath. I was sure I would pass for an infected. I did look like one and I felt as lifeless and numb as one. I resented the man for he deserted me. But no, as I glance to my right, he is there, his breath weakly rising and falling. Obviously, he tried to climb and failed. I thought about shaking him but that might infuriate him so I let it go.

My eyes quietly scanned the area, and I shoot upwards. Too fast though, and my head began swimming around, i tried shaking it, but that only hurt more. But it would be worth it, for two infected were roaming too closely by.

I walked as fast as my legs can allow me towards it. Tightly clutching my machete.

I aimed at it's head and hurled the blade forward. I had expected to hear the sound of its skull cracking, the slush of his brain as it was cut in two but my machete made contact with mid-air.

The thing snarled and bared it's teeth as it neared me. I slashed again but I missed and the next think I know is that the thing was on top of me. It's hot breath smelled of decaying flesh, his teeth were painted black and green. I fought wildly, screaming and kicking the thing that didn't even flinch at my hits, my blade struck numerous places in its body, but never the head until finally the thing was still.

I breathed thoroughly as I clutched my head and squinted my eyes shut, warding of the severe pain. Pounding, throbbing, like toothache in my brain, right between the eyes.

I cried in frustration as I clutched my hair and head tightly and grinding my teeth against each other. The pain was so surreal and frustratingly powerful. Like a 9 Richter earthquake.

After the pain passed, I noticed another one stalking around it was leaning closer to the crossbow man. He wasn't fully alert yet, but was muttering intelligible things. And I wondered if he was as damaged as me.

Without much effort, I finished this one off quickly before I collapsed. Awake but shivering and immobile. Like a tree in the middle of a storm. That's when my eyes rolled up into my head. I hadn't slept for too long, a few minutes maybe. I awoke to the sounds of a struggle. The hunter was just finishing off an infected. He was struggling with his crossbow, pulling back the string as the infected stalked closer and closer. I knew I couldn't reach him in time and hoped he would make it without my help. But still I crawled towards the machete and at the exact same moment when I curled my fingers on the handle, the infected lay still on the ground, an arrow straightly piercing its head as the man was struggling to breathe.

"Are you okay?" I croaked. My vocals were fucked up to the extreme due to my savage screaming.

"Fine." He muttered.

"We'll move on when you're ready." I said. But of course, I receive no answer.

I watched silently from afar as he solely readjusted the bandages. Refusing help. He later cut the ears of the infected and made them into a necklace, that of course after skinning a raw squirrel and eating it. I shuddered, but I made no remark for I was starving myself and wouldn't have minded eating from it as well, but it's not like he'll share with me anyway.

Afterwards, we were going to climb. We both coldly agreed that I should go first because I was smaller and leaner. In my state, it was pretty difficult, even considering the fact that I trained for gymnastics ever since I was 5. But I made it in the end, but I shouldn't consider this a triumph for I threw up twice and fell down numerous times, adding on to my never-ending list of injuries. But I made it, at least.

He wasn't as graceful, but certainly stronger, he tripped twice, but he didn't fall back to point zero, instead, he managed to grab a thin tree or a stray rock. During his climb he was exchanging bits of conversation with someone. His slurry manner suggested a fight.

He was struggling to reach the top, his arms quivered as he tried to pull himself up and I hurried to help him, I expected him to refuse but surprisingly he actually took my hand.

When he was fully up he glanced around, as if seeking an invisible entity. "Yeah you better run!" He yelled, his chest heaving up and down rapidly. I actually burst out in a fit of insane laughter as I realized we are both safe now. I didn't know why this happened and it was easy to blame the sun and my damaged brain.

He looked at me, startled. "What's so funny?"

"I don't know. I'm just glad we're alive." I shrugged as my body vibrated with laughter. He frowned upon me like I was mad, and perhaps I was.

"Sorry." I said, hurt. "I guess we've been out in the sun for too long.

I followed him. Keeping a good couple of meters distance between us, but I was careful not to lose him out of sight.

After half an hour or so of walking I was feeling light-headed again and I needed to stop to catch my breath. I leaned against a tree, sweating buckets.

"Ya alright?" He asked.

"Mhm. I just need a break, you can go ahead without me. I see the farm from here anyway."

He nodded and walked on. But I called out for him one last time. "Hey! What's your name?"

"Daryl" He answered.

"Nice to meet you." I smirked. "I'm Roxanne."

Hi simply nodded and kept on walking. Not too long after that, I heard the firing of a gun. It seemed unimportant at first but I decided to investigate. But then there he was. Lying half-dead on the floor, heavy blood oozing from a bullet wound in his head. I covered my mouth with my hand.

_Oh shit! He's dead!_

I looked up and was faced with the four men I saw at the highway.

The raven haired man. The sheriff. The black man and a man I hadn't placed. He had Asian features and wore a baseball cap. Their faces were masks of concern, surprise and shock...

* * *

****Hello guys, I know this is a sucky ending but as I said before, I was extremely sick and I couldn't type or think properly. So review, it'll make me feel better :)****

**-Suzanne**


	4. Sleepwalking

**Here's chapter 4, enjoy. I wrote part of this chapter in Daryl's P.O.V and I know I said that there won't be any romance until season 3 but I don't think this will be romantic just -well I honestly don't know what to call it- but yeah enjoy :3**

**Disclaimer: I don't own The Walking Dead but I'd love to own Chandler Riggs or Norman Reedus *-* **

Chapter Four.

Sleepwalking.

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"Try to look at the light." Herschel instructed.

I grunted. Lights were too bright now, due to my excellence at falling from trees. Of course I have a concussion, it seems very obvious, staring into a light would be torturous but I sighed patiently and did what I was required to do.

The minute the whiteness of the small flashlight hit my sensitive pupils. I squinted my eyes and cried in agony, resuming the same position I took today in the woods. The throbbing came quickly, my brain rapidly pounding against my skull. Pounding, pounding, pounding. It hammered against my temple and the pain between my eyes returned. It came from so many sides I couldn't tame it by holding them or pressuring them. I clenched my teeth together as I waited for the pain to fade. Gradually it did, but it seemed like years to me rather than minutes.

Herschel carefully studied me with his clever blue eyes. of course, none of them really trust me yet. It took the man called Shane a lot of convincing to put his shotgun down, at least until Herschel checks me up. Herschel was old, perhaps 70 years old or so with snow-white hair and soft blue eyes.

He began lightly pressing his index and middle finger on several places of my skull, checking for other weak spots. I suddenly wince and instinctively draw my head away.

"Tender?"

"Yeah." I replied. "So, is it a concussion?" I had difficulty sounding out the word 'Concussion.'

"Seems like it. I suggest you rest in bed for a while?"

"But then I can't look for my sister." I protested.

"We'll have someone else help look. They already are looking for another little girl, might as well search for yours as well." He faintly smiled.

"Oh." I said as I numbly nodded my head.

"I'll have Patricia ready the blue room for you. You need to be comfortable. And close to a bathroom."

All I did was nod, truth to be told I was very exhausted from this morning's climb, but another question popped into mind. "is Daryl going to be alright?"

"It was just a scratch, he's very lucky."

"Yeah." I said as I got up. "Patricia doesn't really have to clean the room, I don't mind, really." and with that I left to find the blue room.

The blue room is a well-sized room, not very luxurious or modern, and obviously it got it's name by the pale blue curtains and bed sheets. The bed was surprisingly comfortable after so many years of being unused, or so it seemed. I drew the curtains open, letting in the warm light from outside as I collapsed on the double-bed and dozed off. I perhaps was asleep for hours and surprisingly no nightmare occurred. My brain seemed to be exhausted out of it's vivid nightly horrors...

Daryl's P.O.V.

It was night now, I was ordered to rest after Andrea shot me. I had awoken to a strange instinct that someone was in my room. Grabbing my hunting knife, I slowly left the comfy bed behind and waited until my eyes adjusted to the darkness. I caught sight of a distant black shadow standing before the window. As I got closer, I realized the stranger was a she.

"What'dya want?" I asked, narrowing my eyes at her. She turned to me. Something in her expression was so child-like and innocent that I took a deep breath and forced myself to calm down and lower the knife that I had been raising. Her eyes were clouded and unfocused.

"The baby is not dead." She whispered I looked down and saw her cradling an antique doll in her arms.

"No." I said quietly because the last thing I need is disturbing a sleepwalker, they must be treated gently, but I was getting very impatient with her and I can't even remember her name.

"She's just cold."

"Yes." I said a bit too harshly.

"She needs a little warming up that's all."

"Yes. C'mon, you should warm 'er up in bed." I said.

She slowly followed me through the corridors leading to her room, every now and then pausing to lull the presumed baby to sleep. Luckily the baby isn't real because when she lied down, she was crushing it's torso and head, a real baby would instantly stop breathing.

She must have fallen asleep at once because she stopped trembling, her breathing steadied but she still panted softly. I quietly shut the door and went back to my room...

**Yeah, I know it's short, this chapter will be broken up into two parts, but I won't be updating for a month or more, I MIGHT update sooner than that but I highly doubt it so I decided to throw in this chapter before I leave so I hope you guys enjoyed it :3 Please review, I beg :D**

~Suzanne~


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